


till the morning sun you're mine

by stevenstamkos



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Not Hockey Player(s), Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Summer, Surfing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-04 00:48:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14008512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stevenstamkos/pseuds/stevenstamkos
Summary: Nico has a dimple in his left cheek too.He laughs easily, and when he does, he closes his eyes and tips his head back and lets the laugh come from somewhere deep, deep inside him. Sometimes he runs a hand through his hair, shaking loose sand and salt, and he stands there by the water all golden and beautiful in the summer sun. He smells like coconut most of the time.Watching him feels like salt water drying out the inside of his mouth, like a wave closing over his head and dragging him down. Nolan used to think that all he needed were the waves.





	till the morning sun you're mine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [werenskiz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/werenskiz/gifts).



> I hope none of you know too much about surfing because I wrote this in 24 hours and I barely did any research on surfing so apologies if you're a surfing/SoCal expert. I hope there's nothing too egregiously wrong. If there is, please focus instead on Nico's amazing [Swiss surfer hair in this gifset](http://stevenstamkos.tumblr.com/post/171952294296/intermissionpenguins-hier-macht-maradona-die).
> 
> Title from "Rhythm of Love" by Plain White T's.

1.

Sun and sand and rushing water. A good board underfoot. The smell of the ocean, the taste of it, the power and strength of it. That’s what heaven is made of, he’s sure.

Nolan lives for the rush of the next big wave.

It’s hard to imagine that he wasn’t born here on like, the sandy beaches of SoCal. That Nolan spent his first few years up in Winnipeg, the cold seeping into his bones, days when he used to wake up as a kid and think, _this is what they mean when they say hell freezes over_. Except nicer, because he was a kid.

It’s hard to imagine who he’d be if his family didn’t move down here. What would Nolan be doing right now, if he still lived in Winnipeg? Hockey? Right, trading the water for ice—No thanks.

He thinks about the huge waves they promised today, and he wishes he could be out there.

“Hey, so my leash broke,” his next customer says, dropping her snapped leash on the counter. “You guys carry this brand?”

Nolan bites back a sigh and stops thinking about when he can clock out.

 

As soon as his shifts are over, he fucking _sprints_ into the back room where Simmer lets him keep his stuff, snatching up his board and wetsuit. And then he’s jogging the short distance to the beach, board tucked under his arm, thinking about nothing about the water ahead.

It’s what he loves. Nolan would spend every spare second of his _life_ on the waves.

 

2.

This is all he needs, Nolan thinks. Just his wetsuit clinging to him, the sound of water and the blue-green walls. His hair wet and in his face, sea spray getting in his mouth and up his nose and in his ears probably, until the ocean pulls his board out from under him and closes over him.

This is all he needs to be happy.

He’s wrong.

 

3.

It starts like:

Wednesday. Middle of his shift, during the quiet hours when everyone’s at the beach already and no one’s coming in to bother him.

“Hey,” Nolan says to the new guy, because Nolan knows all the surfers on this stretch of beach, and he doesn’t know this guy. They’re still a few weeks out from summer visitors, so everyone here is a regular. Everyone except this guy.

“Hi,” the new guy says. He gives Nolan a small smile.

“Find everything you need?”

The new guy nods. He’s only buying surf wax. Coconut-scented.

When he pulls out his wallet, he empties it out on the counter, and Nolan sees that he’s carrying like three dollars and a bunch of euros and some plastic. He hands the three dollars to Nolan and apologizes for the mess as he starts shoveling it back into his wallet.

“It’s cool,” Nolan says, and then, “You new here?” even though he already knows. But the euros are a nice confirmation. Not just a guy who’s traveling from somewhere else in the States.

The guy says, “Yeah,” and Nolan says, “Cool. I’m Nolan,” and the guy says, “I’m Nico.”

Nico is from Switzerland. Nolan didn’t even know that people surfed in Switzerland. The more you know, eh?

And he’s not sure why, but he finds himself offering, “I surf here a lot in my free time, so let me know if you need tips for where to catch the best waves or something.”

They chat a little bit about the weather and the coming months, the best time and places to surf, little stuff like that. Nolan’s degree at UC San Diego. Nico learning how to surf in Australia of all places. Innocent shit that’s okay to talk about when you’re bored out of your mind during your shift and there’s a cute customer your age there. But Nolan decides to let Nico go after a bit. Waves to catch and all. He steps back from the counter and pretends to rearrange some stuff, so Nico doesn’t feel awkward about leaving.

It takes Nico a few seconds to get it, and he hesitates at the counter, watching Nolan shuffle things around. He says, “Thanks for helping me.”

“No problem, happy to help,” Nolan says, like a 5-star customer service card. “Enjoy the waves.”

Nico raises his board at Nolan, a sort of goodbye gesture, and pushes out of the store.

So that’s how it starts, on a quiet Wednesday afternoon.

 

4.

Nolan’s days blur into hours at the store and hours spent chasing the waves, watching the sun set over the water before heading to TK’s weekly beach bonfire so he can hang out with the boys.

It’s always the same deal every day. Up at sunrise, short run along the beach when it’s still pretty much empty and Nolan has the whole place to himself. Two bananas and a bowl of cereal back in his and TK’s apartment. And then his board in his hand, heading down to Simmer’s surf shop if he's working that day, thinking about clocking out even as he clocks in.

He mans the counter alone, even though Simmer’s there sometimes, and Provy comes in to restock in the back. It’s mostly quiet this early in the summer, and it’ll stay quiet until the summer crowd make their way to SoCal. Been like this every year.

It’s a comfortable sort of routine, and Nolan likes routine.

 

5.

There’s someone running on the beach in front of him. Nolan thinks about keeping his easy pace, but he’s curious. There are usually a few other joggers on the beach and Nolan’s always ignored them, but this guy is pretty close, just a few feet ahead. Close enough for Nolan to overtake, if he really wanted to.

He’s still thinking about it when the guy noticeably slows down, though he doesn’t turn around. Nolan speeds up, kicking sand.

“Hi,” the guy says as soon as he pulls even with him. It’s Nico who bought the coconut-scented wax, from two weeks ago.

“Hey again,” Nolan says shortly.

He’s still breathing easily, so it’s not hard to talk, but he prefers not to talk during his runs. For a second, he’s afraid that Nico is gonna try holding a conversation, breaking the early morning mood and fucking up Nolan’s peace and quiet. But he doesn’t talk at all. There’s just the sound of the water and the waves hitting the shore, their shoes kicking up sand with each step. And later on, their breathing, deep and even and in sync.

At the end of their run, Nico strips off his thin sweater and balls it up in his fist, and Nolan does the same. They talk a little then, as they walk a bit to cool off, before going their separate ways.

 

“Wasn’t sure if you were actually coming,” Nolan says.

Nico is already in his wetsuit, hair blowing in the wind, board under his arm as he walks over to Nolan. He’s barefoot and smiling. “You promised good waves,” he says, “and I thought it’s more fun to surf with friends.”

“Yeah, sure is,” Nolan says. He jerks his head at the water. “Wanna show me your stuff?”

And Nico’s answering smile is both a challenge and an invitation. There’s a dimple in his right cheek.

 

6.

Nolan is no expert when it comes to filming, but he _is_ a bit of an expert when it comes to surfing. And Nico is good at surfing. Good enough for Nolan to bust out his nice camera, which was a gift from his granddad, back when they all lived together in Winnipeg. He’s pretty rusty with it, and he misses the first couple of waves, but Nico is only warming up.

The good stuff Nolan manages to get on camera, standing just out of the water. The ocean isn’t giving them much today, but there are a few small waves that Nico rides easily enough, and then bigger ones that he practices tricks on. Nolan focuses on catching the way the nose of his board breaks through the lip of the wave, throwing spray everywhere. He hopes his hand isn’t shaking too bad.

Nico’s head turns toward shore, and then the next wave overtakes him, and he disappears underwater.

His board comes up first, and then his head. He swims to shore and immediately goes over to Nolan, dropping his board on the sand.

“Was that on?” Nico asks. His voice is mild, if slightly out of breath, but his arms are crossed and he looks defensive.

“Yeah.” Nolan studies his face, but Nico drops his eyes. “You’re really good, Nico. Like, good enough to be filmed, for real.”

Nico only shrugs. “Why were you…?”

“Just cause like, you’re so good and it’s a shame if no one else sees you. I figured I might show some video to a couple of my surf buddies, nothing big. Unless you don’t want me to.”

Nico’s eyes flick to the camera, and then his shoulders loosen, and he drops his arms. “Okay,” he says. “Okay.” He bends and picks up his board, brushing off some of the sand stuck to it.

On a whim, Nolan lifts his camera again and clicks it, taking a picture this time. Nico’s head bowed, board in his hands, wet hair hanging in his face. The stark white of his shell necklace laying over his black wetsuit.

Nico’s head jerks up, but he doesn’t say anything, just goes back to the water.

 

“You don’t like being filmed, eh?” Nolan asks.

Beside him, Nico is fiddling around with his camera, testing out the manual focus options. He doesn’t seem to have any clue what he’s doing.

“Little shy,” Nico admits.

He lifts the camera and plays with the zoom before snapping a photo of Nolan.

“Oh. Sorry, I should’ve asked first. I can stop if you want—”

“It’s okay,” Nico says quickly. He’s checking the photo that he just took, and Nolan watches as he clicks back through past photos, studying each one with an intensity that Nolan doesn’t think his photos deserve. They’re not very good shots. Most of them are just like, Nico surfing, or the beach, or Nico coming out of the water, or the horizon, or Nico like…yeah.

There’s one of Nico toweling his hair with a white towel, the ocean behind him. Nico spends a long time on that one.

 

7.

Provy tells Nolan that he’s distracted as hell. There’s a curious tilt to his eyebrows, like he’s saying _what’s the deal here?_

After the bonfire, Nolan and TK head back to their little beachside apartment together, and TK echos Provy’s thoughts about Nolan being miles away. “You don’t surf with us as much anymore, and you were totally zoned out tonight,” he says.

Nolan doesn’t squirm, not really, even though yeah, TK and Provy are right. He hasn’t been hanging out with the boys as much. He spends longer on his morning runs. When he gets to the beach, he doesn’t even run straight into the water like he normally does, torn between showing off his skills and watching Nico surf instead. Just little things, little changes in his behavior, but he guesses the boys noticed.

As soon as they get home, he goes straight to his room and turns on his laptop. TK sighs loudly from his doorway. “Way to avoid me, Patty.”

“I’m not avoiding you,” Nolan says. He beckons TK inside his room and turns the laptop to face him. “Look.”

TK watches the weeks of footage silently, and Nolan watches his face anxiously, wondering what TK’s thinking. Like, he’s sure that Nico’s good. Nolan has _eyes_. But he feels weirdly pressed about this, needs TK to see it too.

“He’s good,” TK says finally, and Nolan lets out a little breath. “You shoot this?”

“Just unofficially, but yeah.”

“Pretty amateur shooting. But he’s good. What’s it for?”

And for some reason, Nolan can feel his face grow hot, and he’s sure TK notices. “Nothing. Just thought he surfs real nicely.” He shrugs, a jerky thing, and TK nods slowly, accepts it.

 

8.

Nico has a dimple in his left cheek too.

He laughs easily, and when he does, he closes his eyes and tips his head back and lets the laugh come from somewhere deep, deep inside him. Sometimes he runs a hand through his hair, shaking loose sand and salt, and he stands there by the water all golden and beautiful in the summer sun. He smells like coconut most of the time.

Watching him feels like salt water drying out the inside of his mouth, like a wave closing over his head and dragging him down. Nolan used to think that all he needed were the waves.

It’s funny, isn’t it? Before Nico, that’s really all Nolan ever thought about.

He doesn’t get distracted really, not like super distracted, but his thoughts do go off on their own sometimes, following the water dripping out of Nico’s hair and down his body, or getting stupidly fixated on his fingers curled around the edge of his board. Earlier, Nico used to wear a full wetsuit, but as the weather turns from spring to summer, he’s ditched that for just boardies. The full effect of him—white shells around his throat and tanned skin, red boardies and bare feet on the sand—is a fucking lot.

Nico likes to get into the water first, and he always turns when he hits the edge of the water, catching Nolan’s eye and throwing him a huge grin. So yeah. Nolan follows him in.

 

9.

“Come back to my place?” Nolan asks, breathless. He puts his hands on his knees, sucking in air, and he feels more than sees Nico sprawling out on the sand next to him. They pushed further along the beach today than they ever have, neither of them wanting to call it quits.

“What?” Nico says.

“Come back to mine,” Nolan says again. Nico only lays there with his eyes on the sky, breathing hard, and Nolan suddenly realizes that it sounds like he’s trying to wheel at seven in the morning, so he quickly adds, “Been wanting to show you some of your film.” He sucks in a few more breaths. “Your surfing, I mean.”

“Okay,” Nico says.

Nolan gives him a hand up, squeezes tight for a second.

 

TK is gone when Nolan gets back, dishes in the sink as usual, so Nolan doesn’t give a shit about trying to stay quiet. He tells Nico not to worry about the sand, since there’s always gonna be sand everywhere. Nico does the polite thing and futilely tries to keep the sand outside, even though there’s probably a ton in his shoes and in every piece of his clothing.

Nolan lets Nico use the shower first, and he offers Nico some clean clothes, since they’re about the same size. It’s not like he planned this.

Nico is showering literally on the other side of the door. Nolan did not think this through at all.

He’s dressed when he comes out, wearing one of Nolan’s nicer UCSD shirts and a pair of loose shorts, and it’s better than him coming out in just a towel but not by much. Nolan ducks into the bathroom for his own shower before he can have a crisis about it.

And then—Two bananas and some cereal, like clockwork every morning. Nolan dies a little inside when he realizes what a bad idea it is, the whole banana thing. But he’s already offered, and Nico takes him up on it, and now he’s eating a banana in Nolan’s kitchen.

They watch the footage on Nolan’s bed since Nolan only has one chair, and Nico stretches out over the covers, back to the headboard, pressed against Nolan’s side. He watches with an intensity that he always has when it comes to his surfing. After the first video, he gets comfortable enough to reach into Nolan’s lap for the laptop, pausing or rewinding the footage as he talks about technique or makes comments about an especially nice wave.

Nolan focuses on the videos, on Nico’s surfing, and he doesn’t think about sliding down the bed and bringing Nico with him.

 

10.

Nolan invites Nico to TK’s beach bonfire, and Nico just—falls in with them, like he was always one of the boys. He hits it off with Provy and Phil especially, and Nolan is happy to pick at his dinner with his fingers and watch Nico from across the fire.

TK gets back from the cooler, beer in hand, and sits next to Nolan. He cracks the beer open and says, “So Nico’s cool.”

Nolan watches as Nico stretches, t-shirt riding up a bit and showing off just a sliver of skin. They’ve been on the beach plenty, seen each other shirtless plenty, but Nolan is still fucking taken out every time he sees Nico like this. And with the light of the fire flickering over him, Nico’s glowing a little, painted in warm colors. “Yeah,” Nolan chokes out. “He’s pretty cool.”

“You never told me how you two met.”

“Uh, he came to my store, bought some wax. Couple weeks later I ran into him during one of my morning runs on the beach and we’ve been hanging out ever since.”

TK is quiet for a long moment, looking thoughtful. “He bought wax,” he mumbles under his breath. And then he says, kind of slyly, “So you help him wax his board or nah?”

Nolan is in the middle of wiping his fingers off on his shirt, but he stops. “Travis…”

“Hey, just a thought. You looked interested. My bad.”

He lowers his voice. “I am. Interested, I mean. But I mean, I don’t know.”

TK shoves him a little, more supportive than anything. “Hey, you still got most of the summer to figure it out.”

 

11.

Nolan’s first thought of the day is always his early morning runs now. Nico wears a thin sweater in the morning chill, something soft and gray, and Nolan clenches his hands into fists and slows his breathing to match Nico’s. There’s nothing but the sound of the waves on the shore and the seagulls crying overhead, loud and hungry-sounding, and their breathing getting more and more ragged as they run.

They don’t talk during these morning runs, and they don’t talk when they split apart, Nico to do whatever he does during the day and Nolan to get ready for his shift in Simmer’s shop. There’s no need to break the mood.

They do talk later in the day though, when the beaches get more crowded and the sun is blazing hot, and they’ve put their boards down for a rest. Mid-summer in SoCal is busy, and the swells aren’t always there anyway, so they put on sunglasses and snapbacks and fuck around on the beach like other people their age.

Nico likes to run through the edge of the water, right where it breaks onshore and the sand is gritty and wet and doesn’t stick to their toes. He jumps in and out of the little waves, splashing a lot and kicking sea spray all over Nolan’s legs, and when he gets out of the water, there’s seafoam clinging to his ankles.

His sunglasses are slipping, and Nolan wants to reach out, readjust them, but Nico gets there first and pushes them back up.

 

12.

They nap in the sun sometimes, worn out from the waves. It’s dangerous for Nolan, since he needs to reapply sunscreen like every other hour or he ends up fucking lobster-red. He hasn’t yet worked up the nerve to ask Nico to help him reapply.

(It’s not like Nolan needs the help, growing up on the beaches of SoCal, but he’d like it, he thinks. He’d like it a lot.)

Nico checks his watch and then lays on his side on his towel, eyes already half-shut. “Nap for twenty minutes, okay?”

“Yeah, okay. I could do with a nap.”

Nolan settles down and closes his eyes and lets the sun dry him off, heat all along his right side. There’s some sand on his towel and he’s definitely laying in it, but he’s used to it by now and it’s not bothering him. He lets his breathing slow, trying to think sleepy thoughts.

He’s tired. He’s definitely tired. It’s just—he’s not exactly sleepy. The sun feels great and he’s glad for the rest, but sleep is just not coming.

Nolan opens his eyes a bit, cracking them open just enough so he can see. Nico is facing him, and his eyes are closed, bare chest rising and falling a little as he breathes. His eyelashes are dark under his like perfect eyebrows, and Nolan watches as a little ocean wind blows through his hair, which is drying in that messy-but-sexy kind of way that Nolan never figured out how to do. Maybe you’re just born with it.

Nico’s eyes peek open suddenly, meeting Nolan’s, and he quickly shuts them again. But he can’t seem to stop the smile from taking over his face, and Nolan has to stifle a giggle too.

They both keep pretending to be asleep, but since Nico’s eyes are closed, Nolan silently reaches for his camera and points the lens at Nico, framing him with his faint summer freckles and his hair and the sand stretching out behind him. The twitch of his mouth as he tries to bite back his smile. His sun-warmed skin.

The click of the camera is loud between them. Nico’s eyes fly open, and he’s given up on not smiling, reaching over and trying to push the camera out of Nolan’s hands. Nolan resists, snaps a few more shots of Nico’s smile, and puts it back in his bag.

They don’t really nap after that. Nico lays on his back, eyes closed, and Nolan stares at the shells around his neck, blindingly white in the sun. They talk a little. And when the evening swells are at their best and Nolan itches to get back in the water, it’s Nico who reaches for the bottle of sunscreen, passing it to Nolan and quietly reminding him to reapply.

 

13.

Nolan doesn’t remember the last time he built a sandcastle. He doesn’t remember the last time he worked hard at burying someone in the sand, or played beach volleyball, or chased someone through the little waves—the ones that he can’t ride.

He finds a piece of seaweed and drapes it over Nico’s shoulder, laughing when Nico jumps.

“Ew,” Nico says, lip curling briefly, but his eyes are laughing too. He throws the seaweed back at Nolan, and Nolan bats it out of the air before it can land on him.

 

“We’re gonna get sand in TK’s guitar,” Nolan says.

Nico strums the strings curiously, sitting cross-legged and facing the fire, guitar balanced on his thigh. He hums something off-key and out of tune with whatever he’s trying on the guitar. “Do you know how to play?” he asks Nolan.

Nolan nods. “Yeah, little bit. Give it here.”

He takes the guitar from Nico and plays a few chords, which is about all he knows how to do, and Nico listens carefully before saying, “Can you play like—” He hums a few notes, louder now, something simple-sounding that probably won’t trip Nolan up too much.

It takes Nolan a couple minutes to get it right. He’s no guitar expert, just like he’s no film expert, but there’s something about sitting on the beach at night with the fire and the stars and Nico next to him, listening to him play. It makes him brave enough to try.

“That’s good,” Nico says politely when Nolan’s finally got it.

“I’m really not good,” Nolan says, much more honest.

And Nico glances up, the bill of his snapback lifting just enough for the fire to catch his eyes, and Nolan is fucking—

“Okay, you’re not good,” Nico admits. He’s smiling again, always smiling.

Nolan laughs even as he feels his cheeks go hot, turning red, and he’s glad that he came blame it on the heat of the flames.

 

Nico sits up after his nap and shakes his head like a dog, and Nolan laughs, doesn’t even flinch when the sand hits him.

It’s lighter now. Nico’s hair, he means. It’s lighter from days spent in the sun, and longer too, growing out a bit in the back and long enough to really get in his face. He runs his hands through it a lot, pushing it out of the way, and then he stretches and there’s no shirt to ride up during these moments, nothing except his boardies slipping a little as he stands.

He always turns back at the edge of the water like he’s making sure Nolan’s following him, and when their eyes meet, Nolan just a few steps behind, Nico’s mouth curls up, dimples flashing—

 

Nico smiles. Nolan laughs.

 

14.

When Nolan imagined kissing Nico—and he’s done it a lot—it was always sunny. They would be on the beach of course, with their boards propped on the sand next to them, and maybe they’re taking a break from the water. Maybe they’re waiting for another swell, the waves too flat for good riding. Nico would be shirtless, his skin warm and smelling like coconut and a little damp against Nolan’s, and his mouth would taste like the ocean.

At least he got the beach part right.

It’s morning, early, and chilly out, one of the few gloomy California summer days. The sky matches the color of Nico’s gray beanie. They’re halfway into their run, and they’re going slow today, slower than usual. Nolan is okay with that. He likes the silence of the empty beach, just Nico’s easy breathing beside him and the birds wheeling overhead.

They hit the halfway mark, an area a little rockier than most of the beach, and Nolan stops to retie his shoelaces.

Nico gives him a hand up when he’s done, and he doesn’t let go when Nolan’s standing, steps in closer instead, and tips his chin up just those few inches so his mouth can reach Nolan’s. His lips are soft but starting to get a little chapped, and Nolan runs his tongue along Nico’s bottom lip, careful.

He almost forgets to close his eyes, caught up on Nico’s face so close to his, Nico’s closed eyes and faintly trembling lashes. And then it suddenly occurs to him like _close your eyes dipshit_ and he does, he closes his eyes and slides a hand just under the edge of Nico’s hoodie, to the warm skin underneath.

They don’t talk about it when they step back. Nico smiles at Nolan, pleased and a little shy, and they start running again.

 

Nolan kicks off his shoes at home and is halfway out of his clothes and about to step into the shower when a thought hits him. He really kissed Nico. Or like, Nico kissed _him_ really, but they kissed. They kissed.

He doesn’t want to put his clothes back on, but he does, and then he grabs his keys and is out the door and making for the beach again, flat-out running this time instead of pacing himself.

It’s hard to know where they kissed; the beach is pretty long and featureless, and everything looks about the same. But Nolan has been running this stretch of beach for what feels like forever now, and he searches for the small cluster of rocks in the water. He didn’t pick up a jar in the kitchen— _why didn’t he stop in the kitchen?_ —and checks his pockets for a container of any kind before shrugging and filling his jacket pocket with sand.

Back in his apartment, he finds an old Corona bottle, colorless and with the label peeled off, and he cleans it and carefully transfers the sand in. There are some little pieces of seashell mixed in, which make it look less like a pathetic bottle of sand, he hopes. No cap, so he’ll have to plug it with something, who knows.

TK isn’t very impressed with his work when he sees, but he doesn’t call Nolan a sap either.

 

Nico is a lot more impressed. He’s actually stupidly impressed with a bottle of _sand_. Nolan feels like an idiot handing it over and stammering out something about it being from the place they had their first kiss, but Nico is really happy about it, so Nolan shuts up and takes the W.

 

15.

Their second kiss tastes like the ocean, salty with water everywhere, Nolan’s fingers getting kind of pruney as he reaches up to cup Nico’s face. And Nico drops his board to put his arms around Nolan, a little clumsy but really nice anyway. Nico is wet and his skin is a little chilled, but he’s perfect standing there in waist-high water, hair dripping as he sighs against Nolan’s mouth, a happy kind of sigh. Nolan spreads his fingers against Nico’s back, possessive.

They have to split up to chase their boards, which have floated into deeper water without them, and Nolan thinks that he might need to actually start using a leash if he’s gonna get distracted by Nico’s mouth while surfing.

Nico gives Nolan a nice seashell the next day. It’s big and spiraling with sharp little spikes near the tip. The outside is brown and cream, the inside pink and white and shining like a pearl. It’s a really pretty shell even if Nolan isn’t the shell-collecting type.

“I know it’s not sand,” Nico starts, grinning a little, and Nolan laughs.

“It’s alright,” he says. “It’s a close second.”

“I will give you the ocean next time,” Nico says, like a promise.

 

16.

Nico is fucking terrible at making s’mores. He’s somehow just really fucking bad at it. He either drops his marshmallows in the fire or _sets_ them on fire on the end of his stick, looking kind of lost as he tries to save whatever’s left of them after he puts the fire out. And then he burns his fingers and his mouth on them when he pulls the mess off his stick, wincing and giggling the whole time.

“Here,” Nolan says, passing him some nicely toasted marshmallows, because he feels kinda bad watching Nico fuck up so badly.

“No, you should—It’s fine, Nolan,” Nico says. There’s marshmallow on his fingers.

“I don’t like s’mores,” Nolan says. “Not really a chocolate person.”

Nico pulls the marshmallows off of Nolan’s stick, concentrating hard on building his s’more correctly, and Nolan _knows_ he’s doing that thing again where he can’t take his eyes off Nico, but he can’t stop it either. Across the fire, someone—probably Provy—makes a cooing noise at them, and Nolan reaches into the bag at his feet and throws an untoasted marshmallow in his direction.

When the fire’s started to die and the night is getting a bit chillier, Nico pulls down the sleeves of his sweater, covering his hands, and Nolan puts an arm around him. He likes that he gets to put his arm around him.

He turns to kiss Nico in the near-darkness, nothing but the taste of sweetness in his mouth.

 

17.

Nolan finds a shark tooth on the beach, his first shark tooth ever, and without thinking, he gives it to Nico the next time he sees him. And he should be used to Nico’s Nico-ness by now, but he’s still surprised when Nico shows up wearing it around his neck on a cord.

“That looks great,” Nolan tells him, trying not to have a fucking crisis about Nico wearing something he got him. It does look great on him. Mostly because it’s something that Nolan got him.

“Thanks,” Nico says. He touches it carefully. “I really liked your gift, and I thought this was cool.”

“Yeah I’m—Uh, I’m glad you did. Think it was cool, I mean.” He kisses Nico quickly and then goes back to looking at the shark tooth hanging over his chest now. “I did like your shell necklace though,” Nolan admits quietly. “Just so you don’t think that I like, wanted that off you or anything.”

Nico only laughs, and then he reaches into his pocket and pulls something out, something long and white and it’s a fucking strand of white shells, his old necklace. He says, “I thought, maybe you wanted it or—”

“ _Oh_. Yeah, I’d love it—”

He sounds way too eager, but Nico doesn’t seem to notice or care. He steps closer and puts his hands around the back of Nolan’s neck, and Nolan’s sure that this would be easier if Nico went behind him, but Nico doesn’t, just hooks the the clasps together by feel alone and lets the shells rest around Nolan’s neck.

“Thanks,” Nolan says quietly. His heart is beating so hard he might pass out. He thinks Nico might kiss him now, but he doesn’t.

Nico takes a step back and looks Nolan up and down for a second, and then he goes through Nolan’s bag and takes out his camera, turning it on and pointing the lens at Nolan, caught there with probably the stupidest look on his face. He can’t help it. It’s Nico.

 

18.

There’s sand in Nolan’s bed. He thinks about getting up and brushing some of it off because it’s like digging into his asscheek and there are just some places you don’t want sand to be, but he’s tired and Nico is a warm and heavy weight on his arm.

When he turns his head, he feels a few grains on his pillow too, rubbing against his cheek when he moves. That’s one downside to living by the beach. You end up cohabiting with the sand.

He closes his eyes. Rest now, worry about cleanup later.

Nico curls into him a little, and when Nolan opens his eyes, he’s right there, freckles and dimples and all. And lots of skin. The skin—and general not wearing clothes thing—is important.

“I think I have sandburn,” Nico whispers.

Nolan runs a hand down his back, biting back a smile when Nico tries to move even closer. “Me too,” he says. “I guess we could use the shower next time?”

Next time turns out to be ten minutes later, when they’ve realized that TK’s gone and they have the apartment to themselves.

 

19.

They’re walking on the beach, barefoot and barely in the water, when Nico turns to him, grinning suddenly.

“What?” Nolan says.

“Nothing,” Nico says. “Just—this is amazing.” He gestures with his free hand, at everything: the sand, the ocean, the sun sinking over the water and turning the whole sky a beautiful reddish-orange.

“Never thought you’d be walking on the beach at sunset, holding hands with someone, eh?”

“No,” Nico says. He peeks at Nolan, squeezes his hand a little.

It makes Nolan open his mouth and say, more honestly than he intended, “Never thought I’d be doing this either. Feels like a dream.”

“I mean—Being here, with you. It’s amazing.”

Oh. Nolan swallows.

If they were like, in the Bahamas, there would be palm trees or coconut trees by the beach, and they’d be completely alone and Nolan would kiss Nico with the surf washing over their feet. And then they’d get some fruity drink, the kind of cocktail with a piece of fruit and a paper umbrella stuck in it. There would be a sweet hotel room, or a cabana maybe.

Nolan looks around at the dozens of other couples who’ve also decided to do the sunset along the beach thing, and he turns to Nico and says, “This is great, Nico, it really is, but uh. You wanna come back to mine, have a beer or something? We could watch a movie, and—”

“Yeah,” Nico says, with the sunset in his eyes. “I want to.”

 

20.

Nolan thinks maybe he’ll get a custom board after this summer. One with like, a sandy beach and shark teeth and coconuts and a stylized shell in brown and cream, with a pearly white and pink interior. He’ll put his initials on it. Or he’ll go with just a big stylized N. He can tell people that it’s for _Nolan_.

And next summer, after he gets his degree, he might travel to Europe. He’s thinking Switzerland. Maybe he’ll try skiing or snowboarding, swap the waves for some snow. He hears the Swiss Alps are pretty sweet in the summertime.

They reach the edge of the water, and Nico looks over his shoulder, checking quickly on Nolan.

“Ready?” he says.

“Oh yeah,” Nolan says, and lets the water rush over him.

**Author's Note:**

> TK: lmao you gave your boyfriend sand?


End file.
